Dr Cinderella's Midnight Fling. Kate Hardy

heart, beating nicely.’ He pointed out the baby’s heart. ‘Everything’s looking just as it should do.’ He made some quick measurements. ‘And you’re eleven and a half weeks.’

      Mrs Taylor brushed back a tear. ‘The baby’s really all right?’

      ‘The baby’s absolutely fine,’ Ed reassured her.

      ‘Can we have a picture?’ Mr Taylor asked.

      ‘Unfortunately, this is a portable scanner, so we can’t print anything from it. But when you have your proper scan next week, they’ll be able to give you pictures then,’ Jane explained.

      Ed ran through the treatment plan, explaining what they were going to try and why; Jane found herself chipping in from time to time. It was as if she’d worked with him for years, instead of only half a morning. Whatever the complications caused by their fling on Saturday night, she was definitely going to able to work with this man. He fitted right in to the team, and he treated the mums with respect and dignity. And she liked that. A lot.

      ‘I like your bedside manner,’ she said when they’d left the Taylors.

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘Funny, I find sometimes women run from it.’

      Jane felt the colour shoot into her face. ‘I didn’t mean that kind of bedside. I meant how you are with the mums. In my last hospital, I worked with a consultant who was incredibly brusque and treated everyone like idiots, mums and staff alike. He had all the social skills of a piranha, and I swore I’d never become like that myself or be forced to work with anyone like that again.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Though I guess I knew you wouldn’t be like that, or Theo would’ve refused to appoint you.’

      He smiled. ‘I was teasing you, Jane.’

      Her face was burning. ‘Sorry. Everyone says I’m too serious. I’m afraid you drew the short straw and you’ve got the nerdy one to work with.’

      ‘Nerdy’s good,’ he said. ‘I like clever people. Come on, let’s finish our rounds.’

      She introduced him to the rest of her patients. When they’d finished, he said, ‘I think we need to talk. Probably not where we’re likely to be overheard, so do you know a quiet corner somewhere?’

      Here it came. Retribution for her acting so madly, so unJanelike, on Saturday. And Sunday. ‘Believe it or not, the most private place is probably going to be the hospital canteen; it’s noisy and people don’t get a chance to eavesdrop.’

      ‘Good. Let’s go.’